


Piano Concerto No. 2, Op.102: Andante

by until_the_earth_is_free



Series: The Fluffy Adventures of an Unstable Professor and His Pet Cannibal [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Music, Alternate Universe - Orchestra, Alternate Universe - Pianist, First Dates, Fluff, M/M, Manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2017-12-29 21:34:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1010365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/until_the_earth_is_free/pseuds/until_the_earth_is_free
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will is the first desk of the first violins in Jack Crawford's orchestra and does not even give a shit.<br/>Until Hannibal waltzes in with his gorgeous cheekbones and his gorgeous music.<br/>Love happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've surrendered to the unholy force that is Hannigram.  
> Here is my offering.  
> (You might want to listen to the music as you read to actually understand my weird mumbo-jumbo metaphors: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JlMHjo7Jwhk )

Will wasn’t in the habit of coming to orchestra rehearsals early. He would time his arrival to a minute and a half before the rehearsal was due to start, just giving himself enough time to unpack his violin and fish out his music. Technically, being first desk of the first violins, he should have been getting there earlier to sort out his section of the orchestra, but he could leave that to Chilton, with whom he shared the desk.

It was probably rude of him, but Chilton seemed to be more interested in than annoyed by Will’s habitual lateness, which might have been the reason he was never on time: Chilton's stares made him feel uneasy.

No, he'd decided.  Rehearsals should be as quick and perfunctory as possible.

People were often shocked when they discovered how dispassionate Will was towards his music. It was a sort of gift, being able to mimic emotion and expression while playing without actually feeling anything. Music was just something he was good at and it made a lot of people happy, but he didn’t have any emotional connection with it.

Will supposed that most conductors would feel personally offended that the leader of their orchestra was so apathetic, but Jack Crawford was an exception. In a way, he was similar to Will as his attitude to music was purely business-like, but he enjoyed what he did and, as long as the audience was enjoying it too, didn’t care about anyone’s feelings.

It was what Will both admired and feared about Jack.

~O~

“Graham! You’re late,” Crawford snapped the moment Will entered the hall, violin case slung carelessly over his back.

It seemed strange that he should mention it today as he had never said a word about Will’s punctuality before now, until Will looked up and saw a grand piano in front of the violin section and an unfamiliar man sitting at it, flexing his fingers silently over the keys, and deduced that it was not an ordinary rehearsal.

“Sorry,” he replied tonelessly, as he opened his case, grabbed his violin and edged around the piano to get to his desk, where Chilton was already sitting.

About to break his tradition of never speaking to Chilton ever by asking why there was a pianist to their right, Will noticed a new sheet of music on his stand: Shostakovich’s second piano concerto, which explained the irregular setup.  The music looked pretty easy compared to their typical repertoire, although concertos were always more difficult, especially if he wasn’t able to even see the pianist.

After all the musicians had found their places and music, Jack rapped his baton and invited the oboist, Beverly, to play an A. While the orchestra was tuning, the pianist stood and walked over to whisper something to Jack, giving Will a clear view of what the newcomer actually looked like.

The first thing Will noticed, rather embarrassingly, was the man’s impressive cheekbones. The pianist was also wearing a dark blue three piece suit that seemed oddly formal for a rehearsal. However, most strangely, there appeared to be an extra finger on his left hand and Will, as he wondering whether another finger would be an advantage or a hindrance while playing the piano, looked back up at the man’s face and caught his eye for the briefest of moments. Ears burning, Will looked quickly back down at his music and tried to look like he was concentrating on tuning his violin.

When the sounds of tuning instruments had died out, Jack looked up and smiled over the heads of the musicians.

“Alright, everyone. Our next concert is in four weeks and we have until then to get this perfect, as well as our other pieces. This is Hannibal Lecter, our solo pianist, who will be joining us for the duration.” Hannibal gave a small wave- with his right hand, Will noticed. “The new addition to our portfolio isn’t hard or long and we’re really only doing it on request of one of our more generous patrons. So let’s get to it.”

Twitching a small smile at Jack's inspiring peptalk, Will watched Hannibal dutifully walk back to his piano stool, regrettably where Will couldn’t continue to admire him.

“From the top. One bar for nothing.”

The baton swung.

As always with an unfamiliar piece, the first note was timid and late, but Will took it upon himself to play more forcefully and with an almost caricatural exaggeration to try to drag his section out of their shells. The movement was actually going well, the strings sliding gracefully from phrase to phrase and delicately placing chromatics like gentle garnishes of dill on the surface of a cream soup, until Hannibal started to play.

The first chord felt like an effortless shattering of glass and each subsequent note a separate shard hitting the floor.

It was entrancing. It was melancholy. It was _glorious_.

Will felt his bow arm tremble involuntarily, something that never happened when he was playing. He saw his glasses start to fog up and the music in front of him melt into a grey blur.

He didn’t think he’d ever experienced such a strong emotional reaction to music before.

Modulating into a major key, the piano’s bright notes flipped through the hall like colourful buttons in a game of tiddly winks. It was so innocent and curious that Will had to put down his violin and cover his mouth with his hand to stop himself from laughing through his tears.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He could hear his section behind him murmuring and playing quieter with bafflement at why their first chair had stopped and feel Chilton's nosy gaze prickle his heated neck. The violins trailed off clumsily at the end of their last phrase, letting the piano part spiral its way around deliciously elegant broken chords in a free but constrained tempo, like organised chaos.

A sudden passion rose within Will. Upon witnessing such an incredible source of beauty, he needed to at least try to complement it with a decent accompaniment.

As Jack demonstrated the downbeat of his next entry, perfunctorily in time as always, Will seized the neck of his violin, imbued with a newfound motivation.   He vibrated his strings with a vigorous desperation while concentrating on keeping his bow as smooth and as _perfect_ as possible to match the perfection of the piano’s soft rhythm, rising like fragrant smoke above the orchestra.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I literally don't know how to summarise this because nothing actually happens in this chapter.
> 
> ((You should still read it though!))

Hannibal Lecter was a pedantic man.

He supposed that was what made him such a keen pianist. Having no patience for laziness or inaccuracy, he firmly believed that every piece of music should be played as though sound was sentient and only had as long as the music lasted to be alive. A critic once said that Lecter could play the same four-minute movement for an entire concert and each repetition would sound like both a reincarnation and a transformation.

Perhaps this was why he felt himself become so innately drawn to Will Graham.

He’d heard about Graham’s playing, of course. ‘Technically accurate to an almost pathological precision’, said one review.

Pathological certainly was the word to use around Graham. The man was so fascinatingly hidden, his talent for real emotion concealed under layers of flawless technique. Nobody seemed to realise it was there, not even the violinist himself.

This was why Lecter felt the smallest jolt of glee when he entered on his cue and the violins scattered to a messy halt. It was so incredibly uncharacteristic of what he had heard about Will Graham to mess up so badly and he shifted in his piano stool to get a better look of what was happening over at the first desk. Unfortunately, he couldn’t see much from the back and so decided to lure the emotion out of Graham through his playing.

It was exaggerated, and maybe slightly gaudy, but it seemed to provoke a reaction.

Perfectly on cue, the violins hummed back into the music with a gentle wistfulness. It sounded beautifully effortless, but with a quick glance at the section leader, Lecter saw that Graham was still fervently prioritising the sound over the music.

He would need a bit more time with the violinist, just to ensure his full potential was being achieved.

One could argue that it was none of Lecter’s business. However, he rationed that music-making was his business and helping Will Graham was part of that now.

And Hannibal Lecter was a pedantic man.

~O~

Once Crawford felt satisfied that the piece was at least decent and they had quickly run through the rest of their repertoire, he announced the end of the rehearsal and commissioned Will to move the piano back into the green-room leading out of the hall since he had been ‘late’.

Annoyed at this opportunity to feel embarrassed about his pathetic muscle strength in front of an attractive dapper pianist, he almost felt inclined to ask Chilton for help until he felt a sharp tap on his shoulder. Will turned around and faced a suave half-smile that offered to assist, in a tender, European accent.

“Sure, uh, thanks,” Will replied, ignoring the peculiar tingling sensation rippling down his arm from the place Hannibal Lecter had touched him.

The smile broadened and the pianist swiftly swivelled the piano into the right direction and started pushing it into motion with surprising strength. Realising how ridiculously unnecessary he was in this procedure, Will followed his lead and together they put the instrument away.

“You are Will Graham, first desk of the first violins, correct?” Hannibal asked, as they were walking back into the hall to organise the rest of the orchestral equipment.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Will responded, evoking a soft, lyrical laugh from the other man.

“I have to admit,” Hannibal continued. “I am quite intrigued by your style of playing. It feels very unique.”

“Maybe it’s because my style is to play the music without style.”

“Or perhaps it is because you have a sub-conscious style that you have not yet cultivated or fully understood.”

Will stopped and put down the music stand he was about to stack.

“That’s quite the psychoanalysis you’ve got brewing there, _Dr. Lecter_ ,” he said, sarcastically, making eye contact with the pianist for the first time since they had started talking.

Hannibal grinned.

“I do apologise. I usually wait until I’ve taken them out to dinner before giving someone the Freudian run-down,” he joked, a humorous glimmer in his dark eyes.

“Careful, I might follow you up on that one.”

“On what?”

He knew; he just wanted to hear Will say it.

“On taking me out to dinner.”

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed in delight.

“So, how’s Saturday for you?”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What bant.
> 
> I realise that I too often write Will as an awkward socialite, which in a way he is, but he also has some awfully witty banter with Hannibal on the show and in this fic I have made that more prominent. I hope.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Hannibal go on a date.  
> Yay!

When Hannibal arrived at the street of Will Graham’s apartment at six o'clock that Saturday, Will was already standing outside, apparently saying goodbye to one of his music students, an attentive-looking teenage girl.

“Remember to lift the violin higher when you play and to swing your elbow when playing the lower notes,” he advised, as he handed her a musical score.

“It hurts my neck,” the girl complained, tucking the music into her violin case.

Will let out a low, genuine chuckle before saying, “goodnight, Abigail,” and waving at her as she crossed the road.

“Hannibal? Is that you?” Will called, squinting at the shadowy figure fifty metres down the street.

Hannibal smiled and walked over, trying not to look like a serial killer who had been watching his date from afar for the last minute or so.

“Good evening, Will. Are you well?”

“Yeah, I’m great,” he replied. “Let me just quickly get my coat and we can go.”

~O~

“You have dogs,” remarked Hannibal, as Will opened his front door and a furry stream of of animal flowed past him and created a whirlpool around his calves, rendering him immobile.

“Acutely observed,” Will said with a wry smile, and clicked his fingers sharply, causing the dogs to scamper back into the apartment.

It was a small dwelling and seemingly organised with a priority on comfort before practicality. There were heaps of books in every corner and on every surface, even on top of the wooden, upright piano on the other side of the living room.

“I’m sorry about the dogs flying at you like that. They’re not used to anyone apart from me and my students,” Will said, pulling his coat from the hook on the other side of the front door.

“No worries. I was just surprised, as many dogs bark when they hear music being played,” Hannibal replied, bending down to scratch a terrier behind the ears.

“Only when I’m out of tune,” Will joked, and gestured for them to be on their way.

~O~

The restaurant Hannibal had chosen was very fancy and very French. The waiter seated Will and Hannibal next to a window, so they could watch the uneventful night-life of Baltimore while they ate.

“You certainly have many books,” Hannibal commented, while perusing the wine menu.

“Yeah, most of them were my dad’s,” Will replied, flicking through the menu and trying not to ask Hannibal to translate half of it. “He was a real avid reader. When he died, his books were the only things I couldn’t bear to toss out so I kept them. It’s been almost a year and I still haven’t bought a proper shelf for them.”

“Do you not have any siblings?”

“No, it’s just me. How about you?”

“I had a sister, but she passed away when I was very young.”

Hannibal looked distractedly out of the window and Will floundered for a subject to change to.

Thankfully, only half a minute had passed before the waiter returned and took their orders for a perfectly pronounced “beef bourguignon” and what Will hoped was a passable dictation of “coq au vin”, the only dish he recognised on the menu. As a professional musician, people often assumed that he was much more cultured than he was.

Occupational hazard.

“It’s surprisingly quiet here, given how busy it is,” Will observed, once their menus had been taken away and their glasses filled with a dark red wine.

“You are a musician who prefers silence to sound,” Hannibal deduced, lifting his glass and sniffing it delicately before taking a sip. “How paradoxical.”

Will smiled into his wine.

“I actually have a condition in my inner ear that means I should avoid loud noises,” Will confessed. “But I’m usually fine unless I get too close to the brass section.”

“Ah,” said Hannibal, knowingly. “I was wondering why Jack made you first desk of the first violins.”

Will chuckled heartily for the second time that evening and Hannibal tried to memorise each and every fluctuation in the sound so he could play it perfectly back in his mind later.

~O~

“Thanks again for dinner,” Will said, as they stood outside his apartment building a few hours later. “I really enjoyed tonight.”

“Thank you for joining me, Will,” Hannibal replied, and Will felt an adolescent squeeze in his stomach as he heard the smooth, accented voice say his name. “Perhaps I could cook for you sometime.”

“That sounds brilliant, yeah.”

“And, in exchange, you could play me something on your violin?”

“Sure,” Will responded, his stomach twisting slightly more aggressively now. “If that’s something you’d want...”

“Yes, Will, that would be something I’d want very much,” Hannibal said, suddenly very serious and looking Will in the eyes with those dark, mahogany eyes.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Will half-squeaked, terrified to move an inch in case the tense feeling in his internal organs increased, causing him to keel over and pass out from the sheer attractiveness radiating from Hannibal Lecter, concert pianist.

Hannibal smiled toothily and took a step back.

“I shall see you at next rehearsal, Will Graham.”

Damn that man, Will thought, as he watched Hannibal walk back down the street. He’s definitely doing it on purpose.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope people who aren't in an orchestra get all of my jokes and actually know what's going on.  
> If anything needs clarification, please tell me!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will, Beverly and Alana discover something strange about Will's new beau.

“Wow, Will, it’s been a week and you’re already sleeping with the hot, European pianist,” Beverly exclaimed.

“We’re not sleeping together,” Will hissed, hurriedly looking around the café in case anyone they knew was listening in on their conversation, while Beverly and his friend from arts college, Alana, giggled at his embarrassment. “It was _one date_.”

“But when are you going to see him again?” demanded the oboist, gesticulating with her dangerously full mug of cinammon latte.

“I don’t know,” Will sighed into his hot chocolate. “He said something about cooking dinner and me playing for him but he didn’t mention anything yesterday in rehearsal.”

“He asked you to play the violin for him?” asked Alana curiously.

“Damn, I’m sure there’s a euphemism to be found in there...” Beverly muttered, causing Will to laugh, although more out of nervousness than humour.

“Yeah,” he shrugged, unused all this attention on his lovelife. “But we didn’t even talk yesterday.”

“He’s playing hard to get,” Beverly said solemnly, raising her eyebrows in mock-wisdom.

“Do you think he expects me to call him first?” Will asked Alana, since she seemed to be actually taking the conversation seriously.

“Do you know his number?” she replied, slowly sipping her cappuccino.

“No... But I’m sure I could find out.”

“How do you intend to do that, Graham?” Beverly asked, exasperated. “People don’t use phonebooks anymore and you’re not exactly an FBI investigator.”

“If he’s got an agent or a manager, I might be able to find him on the internet,” offered Alana.

“Just don’t try to hard to find him or he’ll know you’ve tried too hard,” Beverly advised.

“Oh no, wait, nevermind, he hasn’t got a website,” Alana said, looking down at her phone.

“Did you spell his name right?” Will asked, anxiously. “Maybe Lecter is with an ‘o’.”

With long, nimble violinist fingers, Alana retyped her search, but nothing relevant came up.

“What kind of professional classical pianist doesn’t have a website?” Beverly exclaimed, wrinkling her nose.

“A surgeon, apparently,” murmured Alana, staring at the screen of her phone. “Look.”

Will quickly took the phone from her and looked at the opened website.

It was a short article describing the heroic acts of a surgeon who saved the life of a young boy, who had been suffering from a potentially fatal tumour. The photo provided was of a smiling boy in a hospital bed, accompanied by the familiar, angular face of Hannibal Lecter.

It was dated only a month ago.

“What?”

“Did he not mention his job when you went on your date?” Beverly asked, incredulous.

“No, well, I mean, I just assumed...” Will stammered.

“It seems odd that he wouldn’t say anything about it,” Alana said. “Almost like he was trying to hide it from you.”

“Why would he want to hide the fact he’s a doctor?” Beverly asked. “No, seriously! Better paid than a musician, more in demand than a musician, more useful to society than a musician... Okay, why didn’t my parents put me through med-school? I-”

“Will?” Alana interrupted.

Will was gazing out the window of the café, frowning.

“Are you alright?”

Will’s eyes focussed back again and darted to meet Alana’s.

“Yeah, I’m fine. But, it is odd.”

They then spent the rest of the conversation discussing ideas as to why someone would want to hide the fact they were a surgeon, which steadily became more and more improbable, until Beverly suggested that Hannibal was an extra-terrestrial, whose secret code-word to summon his alien-brethren was ‘surgeon’ and he just didn’t want Will to meet his family on the first date.

Which was when Will announced that it had been lovely but that that was more than enough caffeine and geekiness to be getting along with and he was sorry, but he had a student to teach.

This was not entirely true, as his next lesson was not for another two hours, but he had been feeling a horrible sick feeling in his stomach ever since they had discovered Hannibal was a surgeon and he really needed to go home and lie down.

Unfortunately, the moment he had entered his livingroom and tossed his coat on an armchair, he heard the phone ring. Will stared at it, debating whether he should just let it ring. With a defeatist sigh, he reached over and picked the phone out of its cradle.

“Hello, Will.”

It was unmistakably Hannibal Lecter.

“How did you get my number?”

“No ‘hello’ or even a ‘how are you’? How rude, Mr Graham,” Hannibal said, flirtatiously avoiding the question. “If you are so eager to know, I looked you up.”

“Oh.”

Will inwardly kicked himself for not thinking of anything witty to respond with. Nevertheless, he heard Hannibal’s smooth, low chuckle ripple down the line and trace its path around Will’s stomach.

“I was wondering if you wanted to come for dinner this Friday at seven o’clock.”

He had been agonising over whether Hannibal would ever invite him for the past few days, but, still, a part of Will was angry at Hannibal for not telling him what his actual job was. Was it strange how much this little detail was bugging him? Maybe he was making a big deal about nothing. Maybe-

“Will?”

“Uh, yeah, uh, I’m free then, sure I’ll come,” mumbled Will, closing his eyes and wincing at the ineloquence of his sentence.

“Excellent,” Hannibal replied, and Will could hear the grin in his voice.

Goddamn that man.

After an awkward scramble for paper and a pen, Will wrote down the address and read it back as Hannibal sighed contentedly down the phone.

“Oh and please don’t forget your violin,” Hannibal added quietly.

There was a moment of silence, as if the pianist was trying to gage how long Will would wait before hanging up the phone. It only took him two seconds.

On another day, Will might have been stubborn and waited for Hannibal to be the one to end the call. But Will Graham was not in the mood for mind-games that day.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I think I've figured out where this is going and it should last at least another three chapters.  
> Do tell me what you think so far!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our two favourite musicians have a date (part one).

At ten minutes to seven, Hannibal Lecter stationed himself by the window of his unlit study that overlooked his street. He had left the porchlight on for Will’s convenience and was waiting in the dark room to watch when Will came.

He expected Will to be late. Maybe he even hoped Will would be late because that would confirm his suspicion over the phone that the violinist was angry at him, which would lead to a highly interesting and entertaining evening. Of course, he eventually wanted Will to love him, but what was romance without a few exciting twists?

Hannibal squinted his eyes through the darkness. Yes, that was definitely Will’s oddly rural pickup truck on a street of expensive townhouses. He watched the truck park, switch off its engine and wait without its driver exiting.

How curious.

Was Will debating whether or not to show up? Was he mustering the courage to knock on Hannibal’s door?

The pianist was nothing, if not flattered, that this fascinating man would spend so much time musing over him.

It was five minutes past seven when Hannibal heard his doorbell ring, now even more flattered at Will’s sweet surrender from his stubbornness.

~O~

Will stared at the intimidating brass knocker and let his violin case thump carelessly against his thigh.

"Good evening, William," Hannibal practically purred when he answered the door. "Please, come in."

Will silently followed the host into the entranceway and along the corridor, annoyed that Hannibal had used his full forename. He'd never introduced himself to anyone as 'William'. Why did Hannibal feel entitled to call him that?

"The goat cheese and onion tarts are still in the oven," Hannibal continued, as he held open a door leading to a small reception room with a piano in the centre. "I thought we might do a bit of music-making before then."

It was disconcerting how much Will felt like a callboy, trading music for dates.

Not quite wanting to start playing yet, he walked over to the piano and traced his fingers over the keys. Something felt strange about them, like the keys were closer together than usual.

"The keys are tailored to be narrower than average to compensate for my unusual condition," Hannibal explained, as if he had read Will's mind. "Polydactyly makes piano-playing rather more complicated."

"I can imagine it would make surgery rather more complicated too," Will replied, still looking at the piano and not at Hannibal.

"Yes," the pianist replied, a small chuckle surfacing in his voice. "They don't stock six-fingered gloves in your standard hospital."

Will looked up at Hannibal, bemused by the good-humoured smile he saw.

"Why didn't you mention you were a surgeon earlier?"

"You never asked."

Why did everything have to be so frustratingly complicated with that man?

"No, I mean, why did you think it wasn't important to tell me?"

"I did not think you would take me seriously."

Pause.

"What do you mean?"

"I have been very interested in your playing, Will," Hannibal said, seeking eye contact that the violinist did not reciprocate. "Your most invested critic, Freddie Lounds, regularly writes about the emotion behind your playing, but I feel like this is a veil, concealing the true artist within. I wanted you to show your emotion. You have the potential to be so much more, Will Graham."

There were several ways Will could have interpreted this strange confession, but, being the self-deprecating bastard that he was, chose to see it as an insult to his musical skill.

"So," Will started, sarcastically. "You didn't want to tell me you weren't a real professional musician so you could tell me how to improve my playing, which lacks emotion, despite the fact that we play completely different instruments and the fact that I was struggling through three years of performing arts school while you were learning how to slice into people's organs."

"You misunderstand me, Will."

God, why did Hannibal keep calling him by name? It was sending distracting shivers down Will's spine that he had to concentrate hard to repress.

"I do not think you lack anything. In fact, you are far more talented than anyone presently in the East Coast music-industry. I also do not believe your performances lack emotion. They merely lack your own emotion. Why do you feel so scared of putting yourself into your performance?"

"Gee, Doc, you weren't kidding about the Freudian run-down."

Hannibal did not laugh this time, and instead cocked his head to the left, staring intently at Will, who sighed and sat down on the piano stool, hugging his violin case to his chest like a shield.

"Uh, well, it's not so much that I'm scared. It's just that, before every performance, I do a quick scan of the audience and try to think about what they want to hear and I sort of play into their fantasy. It makes them happy, I guess."

"What about you? Does it make you happy?"

"It doesn't matter."

"You did not answer my question."

Will sighed aggressively, trying to express how uncomfortable he was with this conversation without being actively rude.

"Well, no."

Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed one corner of Hannibal's lips flick up into a quick smile.

"I think the tarts are ready. Shall we eat dinner and then have our show?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, kind of short.  
> I'm a terrible human being, please sue me.  
> Next chapter will have lots of interesting sexual tension so hopefully that will make up for it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Hannibal go on a date (part 2).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be warned- I suffer from writer's block, insomnia and Lack Of Beta so this chapter might be absolute shit.

All through dinner, Will could barely concentrate on the classy, complicated dish in front of him and Hannibal's interesting honest attempts at conversation as he was too busy focussing on not letting his hands shake. It was a sort of excitable nervousness that, being constantly under a spotlight and therefore immune to large amounts of adrenaline, he had forgotten and didn't know quite how to deal with.

Hannibal was extremely gracious about Will's gesticular stuttering and managed to keep up the conversation with thoughtful monologues that never felt self-indulged and let the other man slide in a quiet, witty response at appropriate moments. However, Will was not witness to the small, amused micro-smiles that flitted across Hannibal's face as he watched Will grin awkwardly at his plate.

~O~

"I'm sorry," Will said, as he fumbled with the complex latch system on his violin case and Hannibal watched, interested, from the piano stool.

"Please, take your time," Hannibal replied, and resisted the urge to sit forward in his seat.

Will took his violin out with trembling fingers, terrified he was going to drop it out of nerves. What the hell? He'd played as a soloist in front of hundreds of people before. What was wrong with him now?

Slowly, he put the instrument on his shoulder and tuned, the sound reverberating softly in the small room.

Hannibal rested his elbows on the piano and watched the violinist before him suddenly stop his evident shaking and become calm: a figure of solid adrenaline.

And then Will began to play for him.

The first note felt like an egg being cracked in slow motion- a first satisfying break in the silence, spilling forth bright yellow, glistening yolk. As Will became more involved, the notes melted into each other and became lost in the air, like individual brushstrokes in an impressionist painting. The music glided and sank in gorgeously fluctuating phrases as if the violin was breathing and the sound was alive.

It was Hannibal Lecter's finest achievement.

He had made this perfection happen. Will was his puzzle and he had cracked it.

If there was any element of competition, Hannibal had won.

As the piece went on, the surgeon found himself recognising the tune. Will was spinning his primary piece into a delicately ornamented variation of Elgar's 'Salut D'Amour' in the sweet key of E major.

The pianist looked up at the performer in surprise, and caught a momentary conspiratorial gleam in his eyes. Hannibal opened the piano lid cautiously and immediately detected an acceleration of tempo in excitement. Will was certainly playing by his emotions today.

The moment his fingers touched the keys, they both knew.

~O~

Will Graham was not a morning person. It usually took him at least twenty minutes each morning to remember how to open his eyes and what his name was. So it was really very convenient when he woke up the next morning next to Hannibal Lecter, to remind him why he was in an unfamiliar bed.

"Fuck," Will groaned into the ridiculously high thread-count pillow and tried to forget the sun was still a thing.

"Well, that is a crude but accurate summary," Hannibal replied, already dressed and smirking.

"No," Will moaned, his eyes still shut and buried into the pillow. "I mean, aren't we supposed to be at a rehearsal at-"

"10 o'clock. If we leave in ten minutes, we shall be punctual. Or rather, your version of punctual."

Will felt a small jolt of anxiety in his stomach, numbed by his fragile consciousness.

"I guess I should get up," he said, blatantly procrastinating.

"Unless you want everyone to see us come into rehearsal late with hickeys on your neck..." Hannibal answered.

"Holy shit, are you serious?"

"The bathroom's down the hall."

~O~

Hannibal had been lying about the hickeys, thank God, but Will's crumpled clothes and their simultaneous 5-minutes late arrival did evoke some odd looks and a few titters from the orchestra. Jack seemed to skim the musicians up and down, as if searching for irrefutable proof of an affair, but, having found none, ignored the growing murmurs of the players in front of him and simply admonished Will for being late, again.

As Will invited the oboes to offer an A, he caught Beverly's eye and the two exchanged a few raised eyebrows and an impressed nod before he looked up at Jack and gave him a ginger smile in apology for his tardiness. The conductor rolled his eyes in the sarcastic gesture Will was sure all conductors learnt as part of their training and raised his baton.

Will didn't look back the entire rehearsal, but he knew Hannibal was looking at him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, I said this chapter would be longer.  
> This is a life lesson, kids, don't trust fic-writers with anything.  
> Comments would be great, since without constant reassurance my muse will die.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The concert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, guys, this is the last chapter.

"Okay, after this next soloist, we're on," Jack whispered to Will during the applause. There were around fifty people plus instruments in the cramped greenroom and, out of habit, Will stuck his head out the door to see how the audience was reacting to the music already being played. They seemed to be enjoying the dramatic changes in dynamics but were more hesitant about sustained dissonance, causing him to mentally note to push on through the more chromatic chords to make the audience more relaxed.

After a few minutes, Will turned back to Jack and mouthed, "the reserved seat in the centre is empty."

Jack furrowed his eyebrows and muttered obscene something about rude, wealthy sponsors, making Will smile nervously. He turned to look at Hannibal, who appeared to be admiring Price's trombone and his smile widened at the obviously fascinated pianist.

How could someone so cultured be such a dork?

"Right, it's us," Jack murmured to Will during the next bout of applause. The conductor stood up and beckoned the orchestra to file out of the greenroom in a distinctly military gesture. After everyone from both greenrooms had clattered on to stage and settled down, he nudged his first violinist forward.

Every time Will walked onto a stage with hundreds of people watching, he was always sure to keep his head down and to avoid eye contact, exactly the opposite of what he had been taught to do. If you don't catch anyone's eye, you don't get sucked in. If you don't get sucked in, you might just make it to your desk.

There was another surge of applause when Jack and Hannibal walked on, shook hands and went to their places. After the orchestra had tuned, there was another small flurry of people making sure they had all the necessary sheet music.

But the hall was entirely silent when the baton swung.

~O~

"Goodnight, Will!" Alana called, waving from across the parking lot.

"Yeah, Will, have a _good night_ ," Beverly added, as if she was making an innuendo that Will was too tired to respond to.

Rolling his eyes and turning to Hannibal, he said, "you were great."

In the darkness of the parking lot, he could see Hannibal's smile.

"Thank you. You were magnificent."

Will grinned into his scarf.

"Did you notice the empty seat in the reserved row?" he asked, changing the subject. "Kind of weird. Rude, even."

"Well, it would have been even ruder had he not come at all," remarked Hannibal, leaning teasingly against Will's car door.

"What do you mean?"

Hannibal smiled, sticking his chin out slightly.

Oh, fuck.

Will cleared his throat and looked at the ground.

"I would appreciate it if you let me in my car," he said, through gritted teeth.

Hannibal cocked his head, as if considering not moving for a whole second, before stepping away from the car.

Still not looking at the pianist, Will opened the door, tossed his violin in the passenger seat and stepped in.

As Will reversed out of the parking lot, Hannibal continued to smile, knowing that he was being watched in the rear view mirror.

~O~

"Okay," Beverly said, putting her mug of cinnamon latte on the table. "Be honest, Graham. How hung-over are you right now?"

"What? No, I just need a few more sips of coffee before I can be fully functioning."

"Uh, Will? That's your second cup," Alana reminded, eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," he replied, rubbing his nose. "I'm just... Everything's fine."

"Oh, I, uh, I got a call from Hannibal the day after the concert asking after you," Beverly mentioned hesitantly, as if unsure what kind of reaction this would cause.

"Oh great," Will said, pouring more sugar into his mug. "Is there anyone he _hasn't_ got under some sort of creepy surveillance?"

"What?"

Will sighed.

"You know, _he_ was the patron who requested the concerto. He was practically _stalking_ me, trying to get me to play the way he wanted me to and... Shit, I _wish_ I was drunk right now."

There was a painful silence.

"And you know what the worst thing is?"

"What?" asked Alana, unnaturally timidly.

Will laughed a weary, bitter laugh.

"I'm not going to break up with the manipulative bastard."

And he downed the rest of his coffee in one.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that ended unexpectedly.  
> Comments from the peanut gallery?


End file.
